Sticks and Stones
by Felicity P
Summary: An argument leaves both House and Wilson with remorse, especially when House ends up in the hospital. HouseWilson strong friendship Please R&R - NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1  Fractured

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 1: Fractured

Wilson stood rigid, his shoulders squared, his brow creased with a look of contempt marring his features. One could literally feel the anger radiating off his persona as he found himself amidst a confrontation with his best friend. House was limping ungracefully away towards the hall, trying to escape the tension that was coming close to smothering both the hot tempered men.

"Fine! Run away like you always do y… you coward!" Wilson spat as he watched the older man's retreating back.

House's body tensed as he came to an abrupt halt, turning halfway to toss a look of hatred back at the young oncologist. "O-h don't give me that crap Mr. good and noble. _YOU_ don't know anything about it! Why can't you just leave me alone? Everything would be fine if you'd just mind your own damn business?"

"Oh yes because you're _SO-_ good at minding your own! I was trying to help, that's what friends do in case you've forgotten!" Wilson hissed, tossing his hands up in the air to emphasize his exasperation.

"I don't _NEED_ your help, so quit trying to fix me when you can't even fix your own fucked up life!"

"My life? You think my life is fucked up? I'm the epitome of the American dream compared to you!"

"Yeah I can see that, how could I have possibly missed it?" House sneered sarcastically. "A beautiful hotel room with a white picket fence, and three alimony checks mailed with love and affection by your perfect ex-wives" he finished in a dramatic and mocking tone.

Wilson cringed and gave the man a pointed look. "This, this isn't about me anyways, it's about you and… "That's right it _ISN'T_ about you, it's about me!" House interrupted raising his voice. "It's about _MY_ life not yours. The key word there is MY, so leave ME ALONE!"

"You're a bastard! I…I don't even know why I try to help you, in fact, I don't even know why I try to be your friend anymore!"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't, I _NEVER_ asked you to be my friend! May-be I don't want you to be either!"

Wilson's eyes darkened as he covered his hurt expression, quickly trying to not give his opponent any more ammunition than he already had. Grinding his teeth a few times, he set his jaw and turned abruptly to grab his coat and brief case from beside the couch. With a quick swoop he snatched his keys off the coffee table and turned on his heel to head towards the front door.

House's eyes followed the seething frame and its every move. "What do you know, look who's running now! I guess that makes you a coward too!" he spat taunting the younger man.

Wilson's hand hesitated on the cool metal of the door knob. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before uttering his final parting words. "You once told me you didn't want to push this until it breaks…" pausing he looked at the floor, his back to the older man in a stance that declared his resignation "…I think, I think that maybe it just… did." his voice cracked. He was turning the handle to pull the door open when a large hand slammed against the wooden surface, throwing the door closed. The young oncologist flinched, and turned to see House's frame towering over him with an intimidating demeanor. "We're NOT finished yet!" he hissed.

"Maybe you're not but _I_ AM" Wilson growled threateningly, pushing House away from him, trying to get out of the corner he had been trapped in.

"I'm finished with this conversation, and I'm…" pausing a moment he pulled his keys out of his pocket, twisting them slightly within his fingers until one of the silver pieces became detached. "…I'm finally finished with you!" he spoke with finality, pushing the key into Houses chest for good measure. Instead of grasping it, House watched as it dropped and clattered to the floor.

Anger flashed in the older man's blue eyes as they met with Wilson's defiant brown.

"FINE LEAVE!" he snarled with venom. "I don't need you anyways!"

"You're wrong, you've _ALWAYS_ needed me,_ ALWAYS_, _ALL_ the time!" he hissed angrily. "_I'M_ the one that doesn't need you! You're a sarcastic, misanthropic son of a bitch who's going to die in pain and alone, who _DESERVES_ to die in pain and alone!" not waiting to see or hear Houses response, Wilson turned on his heal and stormed out the door letting it slam in his wake.

House stood wide eyed with hurt clearly etched on his features. His anger quickly drained out from every pore on his body, and left him feeling empty with regret as he stood staring at the vacant space were his friend had just been standing. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward to follow suit. House stopped himself when he heard the Volvo's familiar engine roar to life, and its tires screeching as it sped quickly away.

Hanging his head, he looked down at his feet his gaze falling on the discarded key. Bending over with a painful grunt, he gathered it into his shaky hand, letting the magnitude of what it represented sink in. _'What have I done?'_ he thought regretfully as he wrapped his fingers tightly around the piece of metal, letting it dig painfully into the skin of his palm.


	2. Chapter 2  Suffering in Silence

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 2: Suffering in Silence

Mechanically, without thought he dry swallowed two Vicodin, just as he had done so many times the last few years. If someone had asked, he wouldn't have been able to say whether it was for the incessant ache of his thigh, or the relentless taunting of his mind.

'_Perhaps it was both'_ he thought honestly.

Both where causing him pain. This is about the time Wilson would give him a lecture about the inappropriate usage of his opiates, and the thought of the younger man standing his hands on his hips, a disapproving yet caring glare caused a small smirk to curve the corner of his lips. It disappeared though, as if it had never been there to begin with.

Lifting his head, he looked down at his left hand that he had raised up in front of him. He flexed his fingers several times, trying to alleviate the dull ache that had been pulsing there for quite some time, it was an uncomfortable feeling, and it seemed to be spreading down his right arm which lay resting on his thigh.

'_Guilt'_ he told himself. His guilt always manifested itself in some sort of physical discomfort. The last time he recalled it happening had been his shoulder during the long months of dealing with Tritter. Just the thought of the detective brought on a look of disdain upon his face.

A frustrated growl slipped past his parted lips, and he placed his hands on his face pressing both palms over his eyes 'A_ drink'_ he thought desperately. _'I need a drink.'_

With a grunt, he struggled to pull himself off the couch, and limped as fast as his weary body would allow him to towards the kitchen.

His fingers slid around the neck of his favorite bottle of scotch, and he watched the liquid with anticipation as he poured a generous amount. Lifting the glass, he stared momentarily at his hazy reflection. He appeared disheveled and withered in the rippled reflection.

'_When did I get so old?'_ he wondered cynically, lifting the glass to his lips, downing it in its entirety. His brows creased together as the warm liquid sent a numbness down his throat.

When he lifted his hand to pour another round he stopped abruptly, his right hand moving away from the bottle and clinging tightly to his chest. His fingers folded into a fist, pieces of his shirt gathering up along with them as he kneaded into the foreign sensation that radiated in his torso.

Involuntarily he groaned, lifting his left hand to pour another glass, hoping that the scotch would assist in numbing the growing discomfort.

His hand trembled slightly, and the diagnostician watched curiously as the liquid sloshed over the side, running down the exposed skin of his fingers. His features changed to a study of concentration, his mind moved quickly to process the various sensations that were manifesting themselves in increasing amounts throughout his upper body. These feelings were foreign to him, thus they were an anomaly, a puzzle, a puzzle which he was assembling the pieces to at that very moment.

"What the hell?" he gasped in surprise, losing his grip, sending the glass shattering onto the tiles below. He stumbled back, catching his balance against the island in the middle of the kitchen. Placing both hands down on it firmly, he breathed heavily, his head hanging limply between his arms. He felt strange. He felt as if an elephant had come through his door and sat down right in the middle of his chest.

'_Psychological pain caused by guilt my crippled ass!'_ he grunted.

Tilting his head, he looked over towards the portable phone that sat on the side table beside the couch. Composing himself, he limped unsteadily into the living room. His eyes were filled with understanding as the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. He tried to repress his panic, but adrenaline seized him quickly. He could hear the blood rushing into his ears; his heart rate was accelerating, and pounding so hard he could almost hear every beat.

'_Clam down!'_ he scolded. _'You've got to pull yourself together and calm down!'_

He grasped the receiver in his hand and fumbled with his fingers, trying to dial the only number his mind could remember at the moment. He kept repeating to himself to stay calm, but it's as if his body had declared mutiny, refusing to obey his orders.

'_Why hadn't I caught this before it progressed this far, you're supposed to be a doctor!''_ he chided himself. _'It's Wilson and Cuddy, they've made you paranoid that's why! You don't even believe your own body anymore, not without psychoanalyzing it all first!'_

'_Pathetic' _he groaned.

The handset was pressed against his ear as he waited impatiently.

It rang once.

'_Please Jimm_y' House pleaded silently.

Rang twice, a third time, and then the voice box came on.

"Damn it!" House cursed, hanging up before making another attempt.

Each time it rang reality shouted about the futility of his efforts, and he believed it, because deep down he knew that Wilson would not answer for him.

'_You pushed him away. What did you think would happen you idiot!'_

After a fourth time of hearing the younger man's voice recording, he felt a wet sensation on his face.

'_Wilson was_ right' he thought upon realizing his defeat. _'In the end I was the one who always needed him, and now he isn't here.' _

Angrily he rubbed at his eyes, cursing the wetness, and the weakness that it represented.

'_I don't cry'_ he scolded.


	3. Chapter 3  Mental Sparring

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 3: Mental Sparring

Wilson sat in the driver's seat of his Volvo, his fingers tapping in agitation atop his leather steering wheel. He had just spent the last couple of hours driving around the icy streets of Princeton, trying to clear the thoughts that were raging through his head.

His phone vibrated against his hip, startling him abruptly out of his reverie. Pulling over to the side of the road he activated his caution lights, before looking at the name flashing across the screen. The frown that had been present on his face deepened into a scowl, clearly reflecting the phrase 'Like I'm really going to answer for you!'

Tossing the phone onto the passenger's seat with a grunt, he tried to ignore it as it continued to ring a few more times before stopping. A sigh passed his lips, but the relief he felt was short lived when the loud shrill began again. Wilson felt his muscles tense up as he fought against the urge to answer the line. His fingers twitched involuntarily, almost begging to reach over and receive the call, but all the pride and anger still coursing through him kept the urge at bay. The silence that settled in the car moments later marked the obvious defeat of the man on the other line.

"Damn it!" Wilson cursed, hitting the steering wheel with the palms of his hands. The action only succeeded in bringing forth a short burst from the Volvo's horn, as if the car itself was protesting to the abuse.

With a heavy sigh Wilson tilted his head back, placing both palms firmly over his eyes. He pressed down in a rubbing motion, trying in vain to ward off the headache that was fiercely trying to take hold of the last fragments of his sanity.

Reluctantly, the younger man began to feel guilty. _'God, only Greg can manipulate me into feeling guilty for nothing without even being here'_ he thought in ironic amusement. He snorted softly while shaking his head, expressing to himself that he found it disturbingly funny to be feeling remorse for his earlier outburst, when he was still clearly agitated by his friend.

'_My friend.'_ He let his mind mull the word over a few times in his head, before letting a sad smile turn up the corners of his mouth. Despite how many times he found himself disgruntled at the man he couldn't imagine life without him. House was House, but he was his House and that's how it had always been. Did he really want this to end, especially this way?

Looking at the clock on his dash board he took in the hour. The part of him that was still angry was trying to convince himself to drive back to the hotel, drink an over-priced beer from the mini bar, collapse into bed, and sleep off this terrible day. The remorseful part of him though, was trying to convince himself to return to House's apartment and apologize, even though he would doubtfully receive one in return. In fact, if experience had taught him anything, he would fully expect to be mocked by the diagnostician. House would predictably perceive the younger man's actions as having returned to grovel with his tail tucked pitifully between his legs.

Anyone who knew the Oncologist knew exactly which side of his sparring emotions would win, so when his Volvo pulled back out onto the slippery road in the direction of House's apartment it came as no surprise.

"I really am pathetic" he grumbled breathily. It was inevitable, for just as much as House was House, Wilson was Wilson.


	4. Chapter 4  Realizations

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 4: Realizations

After his failed attempts to contact Wilson, the doctor inside of him was spurred into action, going through a mental checklist of what to do. He stumbled into his bathroom with his left hand gripping the phone tightly to his chest, fighting against the pain that had intensified there.

Upon reaching his sink, he fumbled clumsily for the right medication bottle, his sweaty palms struggling to open the child proof lid.

"Shit!" he cursed as the cylinder clattered to the floor, scattering a hundred pills in every direction. Grasping the porcelain tighter for support, he attempted to reach down and gather a couple of the fallen pills into his palm. Unfortunately, House found himself joining them in a heap, when his weak grip, compiled with his crippled leg failed to hold him erect.

A strangled cry tore through his lips, followed by a hiss through his teeth. Pain ripped through his leg, taking what was left of his breath away. He clutched his thigh with all the strength that he had remaining, biting his lip in the process. He never noticed the metallic taste that was creeping into his mouth, coating his teeth in dark crimson. All he knew was agony.

When the pain finally ebbed, he slowly began to move, his body trembling as he pressed is palms to the floor. Gingerly House raised himself into a sitting position. Reaching down he picked up two pills and popped them in his mouth, reminding himself to chew them up completely so that they would enter his blood stream faster. He ignored the bitter taste in his mouth; it was a taste he had become accustomed to after years of dry swallowing Vicodin. He let the chalky texture slide past the lump in his throat, and began crawling towards the phone that had skidded to a stop by the toilet.

House pressed his back firmly against the closed door for support, his head tilting back in an attempt to catch his breath. _'When did I become so weak?'_ he cursed himself mentally.

The cold chill that radiated from the tiles began to seep through his jeans, forcing him to involuntarily shiver. It was only then that he realized how cold it had become in the small apartment. The winter's night air had taken full advantage of his neglect to turn up the thermostat earlier that evening.

Letting his eyes focus once again on the receiver, he resumed his original task and let his hand grip the phone that lay beside him, pulling it into his lap. '_Wilson…Wilson's not coming to help me this time'_ he thought despairingly. _'Ambulance, need an ambulance!'_

His fingers never dialed any numbers on the pad, because it took only a second to realize the back missing along with both batteries. A groan rumbled in his throat, his vision flickering as a sharper pain hit him suddenly and unmercifully. He tried to focus enough to look for the batteries, but his eyes continued to blur through tears. Tears, that came at the realization that he would indeed die here in pain and alone, just as Wilson had told him earlier.

'_Now this was ironic'_ he thought gritting his teeth tighter.

The word ALONE seemed to echo with a persistent and mocking rhythm through his head, he hated himself at that moment. He hated himself for pushing their friendship till it broke, for pushing the last person that he cared about out from his life. Now as he died, he knew there was no one left to mourn him. _'But that's what I always wanted isn't it?'_ he reminded himself. _"Yes"_ he muttered in an unconvincing whisper. "That's what I want."

He sat there silently after his declaration, trying to ignore his favorite motto. The phrase repeated itself like a broken record in his mind, taunting him unmercifully. _'Everybody lies'_ it hissed at him. _'Everybody lies-especially you!'_

He never heard the persistent banging on his front door, or the turning of the handle as someone entered his apartment. He lost his shaky grasp on reality and succumbed to the darkness that was summoning him, lonely tears still leaking out from behind his closed lids.


	5. Chapter 5 Discovery

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 5: Discovery

Wilson stepped quietly into the apartment, not quite sure about what would greet him. He was still confused as to why the door was unlocked, though he was thankful for small favors since he had angrily given up his key earlier. To be honest, he had fully expected a book or remote to hurl itself towards his head as soon as he cleared the door. Instead he was met with nothing but silence.

The apartment was cold; the winter air had invaded and taken over the small space. Wilson shivered and pulled his thick coat tighter around his body. He worriedly glanced around the room for any signs of his friend. Beer bottles sat half full on the table alongside the cold pizza that had been barely eaten, and the television still sat muted on House's favorite channel. It was eerily just as everything had been upon his abrupt and stormy exit a few hours earlier.

With a heavy sigh, and a facial expression of complete guilt, he lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. His deep brown eyes glanced down the expanse of the hall, and he tried to muster up all the courage that he could to walk those few yards, and face whatever fate awaited him. All he knew is that he couldn't bring himself to leave things this unsettled between them, especially when it came to the words he had said. He needed to apologize and to tell House that he hadn't meant them. With a nervous breath, Wilson dropped his hand heavily to his side, and trudged nervously towards the bedroom.

As the door creaked open Wilson was surprised to see the light on, but the space vacant. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the light pouring out beneath the bathroom door. For a moment, he stood still and starred at the wooden barrier that lay between him and his friend.

"House" he called softly, his knuckles lightly raping against the frame, breaking the silence. After a few moments of having not received a response, he tried knocking once more.

"House?"

"Come on House we need to talk" he urged softly.

"If you don't open the door I'm coming in" he warned with growing impatience.

Frowning, and trying to hold back an aggravated sigh, Wilson let his fingers hesitantly grasp the cool metal handle. He twisted it down slightly until he felt it begin to move forward, giving him entry into the small room. After only a short distance the door stalled as if barricaded by some unknown object.

"House this isn't funny, let me in!" he growled, pushing harder. There was a slight thud and the door gave another few inches. It enough at least, to see that the obstruction blocking the door was his friends own body.

Wilson could have sworn that his heart had stopped beating in that single moment, as he realized that his friend was not purposefully blocking his entry. He was crumpled in a heap on the other side, and obviously unresponsive.

Remembering to breathe, Wilson inhaled deeply while threading his body through the forced opening. His knees hit the tile hard as he dropped down beside the older man.

"House?" he called loudly, his voice laced with obvious concern. He turned the man over to face him, placing two fingers on his neck, letting his fears meet him head on when only a slow and sluggish thump met his fingertips.

"Shit!" he cursed as he pulled his phone out dialing 911 as quickly as his trembling hands would allow.

"I need an ambulance!" he gasped out. "My friend, he's barely got a pulse. I don't know what's wrong with him yet, but I'm a doctor, and I think that maybe it's a Vicodin OD."

Using his free hand, he continued to search his friend's body in hopes to find some answers. "We're at Washington street, apartment number 221 B. Yes…thank you!" Flipping his cell phone shut, he let it clatter to the floor abandoned.

Wilson's right hand clasped onto the small amber bottle that lay discarded a few feet away and rattled it, taking a glance at the date showing him that his assumption of an OD was clearly mistaken.

He pulled houses body up into his lap and tapped his face lightly trying to get a response. After a few attempts he stopped and placed a hand on his friend's forehead. He noted how cold and clammy the skin was, yet there was still sweat accumulating upon his brow despite the cold temperature of the surrounding apartment.

Revelation dawned in his eyes as he glanced around the surrounding area. His eyes locked on the bottle of pills that lay scattered on the tiles near the sink, and he didn't have to pick any of them up to know what they were-Aspirin.

"God damn it! Shit! Shit! Shit!" his eyes were wide with panic as he pulled himself out from under his friends back, placing him firmly to the ground. His fingers lightly grasped the sides of the older man's stubbled jaw. He tilted his head back and leaned forward, listening for the breath sounds that the diagnostician should be making. Cursing himself for his stupidity and assuming an OD, he quickly placed his mouth over House's and breathed deeply into his lungs, trying as he could to ignore the awkwardness of their situation. This was not hard to do as the signs of cyanosis began to reveal itself, forming a bluish tinge on the diagnostician's lips.

Lacing his fingers together, he quickly placed the palm of his hand firmly on the sternum of his friend and began to do compressions. He counted in his head to fifteen, before dipping down to place his mouth over Houses a second time, then reverting back to compressions. He repeated this cycle several times, his body was growing tired, but his determination pushed him to continue. Tears began to prick his eyes, his mind wandering to the 'what ifs'. As the reality of the situation began to set in, he couldn't help but release a choked sob that was filled with all the raw emotions that he felt.

The sound of sirens screeching outside where echoing throughout the building, but the noise fell on deaf ears. Wilson's full attention was focused on the man below him, and him alone. It wasn't until hands were pulling him off of House, that he realized he wasn't alone.

He watched in despair as the paramedics pushed passed him, ripping House's shirt open to reveal his bare and now bruised chest. In only a matter of seconds they had a bag covering his mouth, and paddles from their portable defibrillator placed on his chest and charged to 100.

"Clear!" a medic shouted, and Wilson backed up in horror until his back was pressed against the sink. He clamped his eyes shut at the sight of Houses body arching under the current. Looking up again, he tried to brave another glance, but the sight before him was overwhelming. Placing a hand over his face, he wept openly. "I'm sorry" he whispered hoarsely, as the EMT's shouted "Clear" a third time.

"I have a pulse!" a medic declared triumphantly. "Let's get him loaded!"

Wilson followed blindly through his tears, as they wheeled his friend out the front entrance. Not bothering to lock the door behind him, he rushed to clamber inside the Ambulance. Immediately the rear doors slammed shut, the sirens beginning their sad cry once more.

"Sir, do you have a hospital of preference?" an EMT questioned gently. Wilson looked up into the woman's blue eyes for the first time and nodded, hopping his voice wouldn't break. "Princeton Plainsboro. We're both doctors there."

He sat on the bench by the gurney, watching in silence as the woman instructed the driver. She then proceeded to insert an IV into his friend's hand, prepping the older man for his arrival into the ER. The ambulance rocked slightly as it bulleted down the highway, but all Wilson could do was keep his eyes transfixed on his friend's pale features.


	6. Chapter 6 Emergency Room

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 6: Emergency Room

Wilson was a hurricane of emotions spiraling out of control, but his inner turmoil went unnoticed by passersby. Each stranger only saw a man sitting seemingly quiet in one of the waiting room chairs, eyes fixed on the door his friend had just been rushed thru minutes earlier.

Wilson's fingers fidgeted in his lap impatiently. It was taking every ounce of self control he had to not just burst through those doors and attempt to take over his friends care 'rules be damned.'

He wasn't an idiot though; he knew he would be unfit in his current condition. One mistake in a time like this could mean death instead of life, and it was a risk he most assuredly was not willing to take.

The echo of stiletto heels clicking across the hall tiles reached his ears, and he quickly turned his head to cast a glance over his shoulder. There was Cuddy speeding down the hallway towards him, her dark waves whipping behind her.

Wilson stood quickly and let himself fall into the embrace that she offered to him, taking as much reassurance as he could from the affectionate gesture. He willingly let some of the weight that he had been feeling melt away slightly, he wasn't alone now.

"Wilson what the hell happened? I just received a call from Cameron telling me that two of my department heads where brought in by an ambulance." Cuddy questioned, pulling back from the embrace. She griped the younger mans forearms and held him at length; her eyes searched his for answers.

"It's his heart" he stated simply.

She gasped, manicured fingers touching her lips. Quietly she let herself sink into a nearby seat, with Wilson following her lead and coming to rest beside her. "Thank God you were with him when it happened." She whispered.

Wilson's cheeks colored in shame "I…I wasn't there" he revealed, averting his gaze.

"I don't understand, I thought-" "No-" Wilson interrupted. "-I was there, just not at the beginning…I found him. He was on the bathroom floor. He…he had just slipped into v-fib. I had to start CPR."

"I'm sorry" Lisa murmured, her blue eyes looking at him with pity.

"I thought it was an OD" He admitted hesitantly. "That's what I told the dispatchers when I called."

"You couldn't have known. With his history it's easy to assume…" "It shouldn't be!" Wilson interjected sharply, pulling his arm from her grasp as he jumped to his feet to pace. "I shouldn't assume. I'm a doctor, I know better."

"Wilson _don't_" she protested. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have stopped this."

"There were aspirin scattered all over the floor around him. His phone was still setting loosely in his hand" he sputtered, while gesticulating wildly. "He tried to call me and I ignored him. I was pissed. He was having a heart attack, and I wouldn't even answer the damn phone!"

Cuddy reached for him, but hesitated when he flinched away. "James stop!" she pleaded, watching helplessly as Wilson sank back down into his chair. He buried his face palms, sliding his fingers roughly thru his hair.

"You don't understand. Y…you can't." he whispered hoarsely.

"Then help me to. I want to understand what you're feeling." Lisa coaxed.

"We had a fight tonight…I left" he opened up.

"How bad was it?"

"Bad." was his quiet reply. "The kind of argument that could void out over a decade of friendship if we'd let it…Oh god, what…what if I hadn't gone back?"

"It doesn't matter because you did, that's all that counts."

"I was _so-_ mad. I've never…I just. God I hated him so much at that moment. I just knew that if I didn't leave I was going to hit him, or worse. The adrenaline I felt before-" Wilson cut himself off, his face paling considerably, a self loathing expression crossing his features.

"Shit!" he hissed. "Shit! The fight…anger releases adrenaline. Adrenaline increases blood pressure and heart rate, which can...Oh god! This is my fault…it's-" "No!" Cuddy interrupted firmly, turning the oncologist's face towards her to ensure eye contact. "_No!_" she repeated. "You can't prove that. You're a doctor. You know the odds of an attack being triggered that way."

"Yes" he nodded, setting his jaw and fixing her with a firm gaze. "Yes I do, and I also know the odds of a healthy, athletic, forty year old male having a crippling infarction in his right leg. But hey, we all know that House is _ALL_ about the odds!" He spouted, his voice gradually rising.

Cuddy despite being disconcerted by the sound of self loathing in his voice, scooted closer to the younger man, taking his hands into hers. "James _please_" she begged, silently watching him with pleading eyes. Within moments Wilson crumbled.

"I'm sorry" he choked out.

She nodded, the pads of her thumbs brushing soothingly across the tops of his hands. Cuddy bowed her head and let her lashes fall to her cheeks. She wanted to give her friend a little more privacy as he tried to compose himself. The sounds that came from her colleague, were stirring up emotions that she herself was struggling to keep in check. _'Damn it!'_ she cursed inwardly, as tears pooled in her eyes and betrayed her. It seemed the more Wilson struggled, the more her resolve faltered right along with him.

The change in Cuddy didn't go unnoticed, and Wilson caught sight of a few stray tears. He watched them slip down her cheeks unchecked, and he felt a pang of guilt for not being considerate of her feelings. He knew she was trying to be strong, and he also knew that she needed just as much reassurance as he did

Hesitantly, he slipped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him, letting his palms rub soothing circles across her back. Neither said anything as they sat there, they just pulled as much comfort as they could from the simple gesture of a gentle touch.


	7. Chapter 7 Consent

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 7: Consent

Cameron's thin figure slipped through the double doors. In an instant she was aware of the two sets of eyes that were watching her. Nervously she flipped through the papers in her hands, trying to ignore the look of trepidation dotted with hope that filled the oncologist's solemn stare.

"Cameron, how is he?" The pair asked simultaneously.

"Right now he's stable. He was given Beta-blockers and Nitrates during transport to decrease his heart's workload, which as you know decreased the amount of oxygen needed and possibly saved some additional heart muscle. It also improved the blood flow, and relieved some of his chest pain. Dr. McIntire has finished his evaluation, and is recommending House for an immediate Angioplasty."

"What do you think Cameron?" Cuddy asked the younger woman.

"I have to agree with him" she answered, pulling a film from the folders in her hands. "This shows the severity of the blockage along the right coronary artery, and there's one here branching off the circumflex. Honestly I'm surprised that House hasn't showed any symptom's earlier than this. He should have had some kind of warning, aches, fatigue, something."

Cuddy nodded looking at the film in Wilson's hands. "I'm sure there were, but you know House."

"No!" Wilson protested "House is an ass, but he's not stupid. If anything the Vicodin may have concealed any minor discomfort he may have been feeling leading up to this.

Cameron agreed. "That's about as much of an explanation as I could come up with. Dr. McIntire thinks so too."

"So what do we do now?"

"We do nothing Dr. Cuddy. You on the other hand Dr. Wilson are listed as House's medical proxy, and since House is not conscious and able to make his own decisions Dr. McIntire is requesting you sign the consent forms to do the Angioplasty."

The young woman extended the papers towards the oncologist, watching as he hesitantly took them, studying them silently for a moment.

"Is there anything else I should know?" he asked looking up from the file.

"Just that without this procedure House is at risk of suffering another heart attack. Considering the severity of the first he…he's not likely to survive another." Her voice wavered slightly, and she averted her gaze. Her change in demeanor didn't go unnoticed by the older man, and he found himself gripping the pen in his hand tighter. He unconsciously signed his name across the consent forms, starring at the pages blankly a moment before handing them back to the younger woman.

"Thank you Dr. Wilson" she said softly, turning to walk away. She made it only a few steps before the Oncologists voice stopped her mid-step.

"Cameron, what's his prognosis, and I want the truth? I mean with the surgery, after the stents are in place."

"He'll have damage, but it's too soon to tell just how much." She admitted. "We will have to do several blood tests to see how much muscle death there is. Since we don't know how long he was in V-fib before you found him, we won't know whether there was any damage from the lack of circulation and oxygen."

"Oh God!" Cuddy gasped. "Do you think he could have brain damage?"

"I can't say for sure, and I know you know that. He's alive, and that in its self tells me that I believe Dr. Wilson made in it in time. As for now, we wait. I took the liberty to call Foreman, he's on his way and the first chance he gets he's going to perform the necessary tests. I personally choose to believe that he will be fine. We'll just have to keep him from doing anything extreme like going out to climb Mount Everest."

A small smile they really didn't feel tugged at both Wilson's and Cuddy's lips. "I don't think that will be a problem." Wilson commented.

Cameron nodded before disappearing behind the swing doors.

When she was gone Wilson let himself frown, his brow furrowing with worry. What happens if he hadn't been in time? What if his friend survives only to have damage to the one thing he valued the most…his mind?


	8. Chapter 8 Prayers

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 8: Prayers

Two hours later the Oncologist found himself alone in a viewing room. There were dozens of machines beeping and humming in the background, and a handful of doctors and nurses were moving about below. His soft brown depths were transfixed on his best friend who lay motionless atop the operation table.

His eye's memorized every line as they swept over the sharp cheek bones, and then moved on to the stubbled jaw that disappeared beneath the oxygen mask. He'd give anything to see the mischief filled blue eyes that lay concealed underneath those closed lids. The last time he had held eye contact with the man, was to swap equal looks of anger, detestation, and hate. Now, he just wanted to take it all back, to start over again. He wanted it to have never happened.

How had things gotten so messed up? The fight was repeating once again through his mind. It taunted him about his mistakes. It reminded him of what could have been, or what could still be the last moments with his friend. He felt sick, his stomach twisted in rebellion. God help him.

At that thought, he saw the small religious objects resting at the side of the room, there to comfort those families who believed such things. He had never considered himself a religious man, despite his Jewish heritage, but his Grandfather had been a different story. He was faithful in the ways, and diligent in the prayers. Despite his lack of tradition, he could hear the words of a prayer he had heard many times when his grandmother had been ill. He wasn't a praying man himself. Honestly, he couldn't even tell you if he really believed there was a God, but despite it all he felt the words forming on his lips anyway. His voice broke through the silence of the small room, though it was only uttered softly.

"HaKadosh Barukh Hu yimalei rahamim House, l'hahalimo, u-l'rap'oto, l'hahaziko, u-l'hay-oto.

V'yishlah lo r'fuah shlemah, r'fu-at hanefesh u-r'fu-at hagoof, b'tokh sh'ar holei Yisrael v'holei yoshvei tevel, hashta ba'agalah u-vizman kariv." Wilson lifted his head and opened his eyes. He looked solemnly at the face of his friend before uttering a final "Amen."

"That was beautiful."

The oncologist, obviously startled, turned swiftly to face the direction of the intruding voice. His gaze quickly landed on his boss who walked quietly toward him.

"I…I was just-" Lisa held her hand up as if to quiet him. "It's ok to pray for the life of a friend James. Quit looking like I just caught with your hand in the cookie jar."

A soft but solemn smile graced her lips, and he couldn't help but return it. "I'm sorry. You just startled me. I thought I was alone."

"You were. I only heard the last part. If it's not completely out of line for me to ask, would you tell me what it means?"

Wilson hesitated nervously, and his actions didn't go unnoticed. "Never mind, forget I asked." She lamented gently.

"No…no it's ok really. I just…It's a Jewish prayer I once learned from my grandfather. It says: May the Holy Blessed One overflow with compassion upon House, to restore him, to heal him, to strengthen him, and to enliven him.

The One will send him, speedily, a complete healing. Healing of the soul and healing of the body, along with all the ill, among the people of Israel and all humankind, soon, speedily, without delay."

"I was right."

Wilson looked into her eyes questioningly, his eyebrows furrowing together. "About what?"

"It was beautiful."

The younger man blushed slightly, averting his gaze away from her face.

He felt the weight of her hand resting carefully on his shoulder as she moved closer to him. She stopped only when she could see the almost naked form of her diagnostician. "Who covered him?" she asked softly.

"Chase."

Lisa only nodded in response. Of course Chase would have made the effort to give House as much privacy and dignity as he could in this situation. It just proved that despite what House always claimed, there were people who cared for and respected him. She knew this for a fact, because she was one of them.

As she watched the younger man in her peripheral vision, she felt a stinging pain in her heart. He was obviously exhausted, and guilt had been radiating off of him in waves ever since he had arrived. That was just who he was, James couldn't help himself. It never seemed to matter whether or not the guilt was founded. The man tended to take responsibility for House in a way she was sure not even his own parents would. That kind of unnecessary burden could take a large emotional and physical toll on anyone, and she was sad to say that what she saw now was a beaten man.

"James" she murmured, catching his attention. "Why don't you come with me to the cafeteria? We can get some coffee if you'd like."

"No."

"James. I think-" "No…" he repeated in a voice that burked no argument. "…I can't just leave."

Nodding in understanding and barely concealed disappointment, she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "I have to go back. With my diagnostician down I'm going to need to rework the schedule. Find someone to cover his clinic hours."

A snort escaped Wilson before he could stop himself, and the corners of his lips twitched upward. "Doesn't sound much different then what you always do, does it?"

This time it was Cuddy's turn to chuckle. "No it doesn't. I guess you're right." She paused a moment at the door and half turned. "Just promise me one thing."

Wilson looked over his shoulder and their eyes met briefly. "And what's that?"

"Promise you'll call or page me as soon as you hear anything, and promise you'll get some rest soon. I don't want to lose my Oncologist too."

"You know you'll be the first person I call" he reassured. "But as for the other request…" he trailed off a little, hesitating as if trying to find the words. Then in a quieter voice he add "…I'm sorry…I just can't make any guarantees on that one."

Her response was a sad and fleeting smile that went unnoticed by the younger man. His attention had once again returned to their friend and colleague below. She looked on with a look of resigned worry, and concerned pity. "Take care James" she murmured into the air. She released her grip on the door she was holding open, not waiting for a response. There was no need; she had already lost the man to his unyielding thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9 Awakening

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, but I wish I did :)

A/N: A big thanks to **ca choel** for looking over my story and fixing my spelling and punctuation mistakes. You allowed me to finally post my story after such a long hiatus.

Chapter 9: Awakening

He felt like he was floating, it was almost as if he was wondering somewhere amidst a deep fog. His body was frozen, his mind sluggish but aware. Half asleep, half awake. It was a strange sensation, one he had felt on several occasions before. In the distance he could hear soft noises that where gradually growing louder with time. The continuous, ever present beep of a heart monitor was drawing him forward, luring him from the haze he was presently lost in. Then it happened. All at once his senses returned, and his body was slowly beginning to obey. He could feel his mind still clearing, trying to comprehend the sensations of the dull ache that pulsed through his chest. _'Odd'_ he thought to himself.

Amongst the other feelings was a soft warmth that was enveloping his left hand. He tried to flex his fingers, but they only twitched in response, feeling weak and restrained. He rolled his head in the direction of his new found curiosity; carefully he began to lift his lids.

The force of the light striking his sensitive and darkness accustomed eyes caused his pupils to contract, and his lids to slam shut. He groaned in irritation, shifting uncomfortably in the small bed.

At his movement the warmth on his hand disappeared suddenly, and he mourned the loss for the phenomenon was strangely comforting.

"House?" a voice called to him questioningly. The voice was familiar, though it was laced with concern, and worn with exhaustion.

The diagnostician tilted his head toward the sound once again. He let his lashes lift from their resting place, hovering only high enough to reveal a burst of pale blue trapped behind small slits.

Wilson couldn't help but let the air that he had trapped inside himself, expel in a relieved rush. His brown eyes looked for any sign of recognition amidst his friend's unfocused gaze, his heart hastening its beating with unconfirmed fears. He was afraid to know what affects the oxygen deprivation may have had on his friend's brilliant mind.

"J…Jimmy?" House's hoarse and gravelly voice queried from beneath the oxygen mask. Wilson couldn't help but smile at the recognition that he saw flash through the older man's weary eyes, but even more excitement came from House's use of his nickname. A huge weight lifted off his shoulders momentarily, and he slid his hand back down to grasp a hold of the motionless palm in front of him. _'Boundaries be damned' _he thought as he waited for the snarky comment that would never come. He was so lost in his own excitement that he missed the contented expression that momentarily flashed across House's face.

House's eyes were mixed with justifiable confusion as they flitted around the small space that had been curtained off for him in the CCU. "W…what happened?" he asked becoming more alert.

"You're in the hospital. You don't remember?"

House shook his head, brows furrowing in thought. If you looked closely you might even imagine little wheels turning in his head. Moments later revelation dawned over his features, and he locked eyes with Wilson once again. "Chest hurt" he replied roughly. "Thought it was psychosomatic."

Wilson flinched at the hidden implications of the statement, quickly averting his eyes. "It was a heart attack" he stated factually.

House nodded and closed his eyes. "Figured that out…How bad?"

Wilson looked suddenly even more uncomfortable. He didn't really want to relive the earlier hours of this whole chaotic evening. "It was pretty bad…You went into v-fib. The EMT's had to use a portable defibrillator to restore normal sinus rhythm and revive you."

"How?"

"What do you mean how? How what?"

"How'd the EMT's find me? I…I was alone." He whispered. "Phone broke."

The younger man closed his eyes in an attempt to hide his emotions, but it failed because the waver in his voice betrayed him anyway. "I know… I came back." When Wilson opened his eyes again House was watching him intently. "I found you on the bathroom floor. I called the ambulance, and started CPR."

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why my chest hurt's…its sore."

Wilson blushed slightly, and mumbled an "I'm sorry" but was silenced by a soft squeeze to his hand. He had almost forgotten that he had been grasping it, and blushed even deeper at the gesture.

"S'ok" House slurred tiredly. "Saved me, thanks."

"Prognosis?" House queried after a small bout of silence.

Wilson smiled softly and released his hand to motion towards his friend's chest, finding this the best time to try and break free of the uncomfortable tension he'd been feeling. "You are the proud new owner of three top of the line stents. Congratulations!"

House quirked an eyebrow lazily "Stents?" he questioned confused.

"You were at risk of having another heart attack. Your doctor thought it was best to schedule you for an Angioplasty to remove the blockages. I'm your medical proxy, so I agreed and signed the consent forms." Wilson waited nervously for House to reply. He knew he had nothing to worry about, but he still found it a relief when the man in front of him nodded in understanding.

"Good call. Who did the Operation?"

"It was a Dr. McIntire, with some assistance from Chase."

"Never heard of him." House mumbled closing his eyes.

"That's because he just transferred here from Dallas a month ago. I've heard he's quite good, not to mention he doesn't have a personal vendetta against you." Wilson paused before mumbling a "Yet" at the end, which drew a small almost inaudible snort from his friend.

Wilson could tell that House was ready to sleep, hell he was exhausted too. The older man's lids had pried themselves open again in attempt to stay awake. "You should rest. You're tired."

House was trying to focus on something interesting, but seemed only to manage a quick study of his friend. He took in the dark smudges beneath his eyes and his rumpled dress shirt that had stains from an unknown substance smeared across the front of him. In his mind he couldn't help but still feel surprised to see him standing there. Hours earlier he had resigned to his fate, fully accepting the fact that he was going to die. Now, he was alive and laying in the CCU at PPTH, and Wilson was standing there beside him. Maybe, things would be ok after all.

"Go to sleep House." Wilson urged again.

"What about you?" the older man mumbled.

"I'll be here when you wake up."

"Yeah?"

Hearing the underlying hope in man's voice; Wilson nodded and murmured a soft yet confident "yeah."

"Pathetic." House whispered faintly, but Wilson knew the word was void of any malice, and a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Yes, yes I am" He agreed, slightly hesitating "… but I'm also sorry."

"Hmmm" House responded, his eyes gazing up at Wilson through half-lidded slits.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier, and I need you to know that I'm sorry."

"S'ok." House lamented.

"So…." Wilson drew out awkwardly "I'll just forget about it then."

"Always do" the older man commented. "That's why you're still here."

Wilson sighed. "Am I really that pathetic?"

"We both are" House admitted uncharacteristically "…and that's why I stay too."

"So you're saying we're kind of meant for each other?" Wilson grinned.

"….."

"You just don't want to admit that you need me." Wilson boasted.

House eyed him pseudo skeptically "With friends like you who need enemies."

"So says the pompous, self-absorbed ass." Wilson quipped.

"Humph!" House responded, closing his eyes tiredly. Moments later House evened his breathing out into feigned sleep, causing his gullible best friend to expel an extended sigh.

Wilson let his fingers brush a strand of unruly hair off House's face, before turning to sit in the chair he had set nearby. Reaching down he grasped his pager typing a brief message to Cuddy, before leaning back and rubbing his hands across his face roughly. Wilson yawned loudly, stretching out his arms with a groan, before crossing his legs out in front of him. He closed his eyes, and let the beeping of the heart monitor begin to lull him to sleep.

A few minutes passed by before House cracked an eye open to investigate. Soon both of his blue irises were gazing at the younger man beside him. "Do need you" He murmured in confession, unable to stop the fondness that entered his voice. "N…m'sorry too" He mumbled hesitantly. With a deep breath, he turned his head back up to look at the ceiling, lying silent as the drugs pulled him under.

Though his eyes didn't open, a small satisfied smile played on Wilson's lips.

Things would definitely be alright, because they were meant for each other. Nothing they could say or do to one another could change that.

-Fin

A/N: Sorry if the ending seems abrupt, but I thought it was better than leaving this story incomplete on chapter 5. I'm sorry to everyone who had to wait so long for this to end. This story originally went on with Foreman, then House's parents arriving, Arguments with John (Houses Dad), and complication arising, but I got serious writers blocked over 2 years ago and so I removed the 4 chapters after this. At least now it won't be hanging over my head that I left this story incomplete. This makes me happy, even though I was not able to turn the story into the dramatic multi-chapter it was meant to be :)


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